


what’ll it be, now, mr. mole?

by WreakingHavok



Series: DreamSMP Canon Studies [3]
Category: DreamSMP
Genre: As canon compliant as fucking POSSIBLE, Because I Have A Problem, Canon death for q, Gen, Horribly out of date but you have GOT to leave me alone, I post about two weeks behind, Raccoon TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Suicidal Thoughts, and I’m not proud, ehehehehe, gratuitous talk of schlatt, hes not actually a raccoon but it’s the plot point, human technoblade, just with a few large teeth, mentioned manipulative dream, okay, only Small Mentions of the skyscraper but you can’t be too careful, quangst, that is a tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:47:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28614597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WreakingHavok/pseuds/WreakingHavok
Summary: When Techno comes back from being executed, he is still alive, with only a cross-shaped burn deep in his palm and blood dripping from his pickaxe to prove he’d even left. Tommy doesn’t get out of the way in time.Somewhere else, Quackity wakes up fine.~The aftermath of Techno’s “execution,” as told by Tommy and Quackity.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Jschlatt, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: DreamSMP Canon Studies [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099253
Comments: 28
Kudos: 189





	what’ll it be, now, mr. mole?

**Author's Note:**

> TW: little bit of nausea at the start, allusions to Tommy’s near suicide attempt, blood, q’s canon death
> 
> Title from Black Mambo by Glass Animals.

When Techno comes back from being executed, he is still alive, with only a cross-shaped burn deep in his palm and blood dripping from his pickaxe to prove he’d even left.

Tommy doesn’t get out of the way in time. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. He slams the door too late, feelling Techno’s eyes narrow at him from over the hill, and he thinks about running for the basement without moving a muscle to do so.

What will it be, he wonders - will Technoblade even bother to open his mouth? Will he put the glaringly obvious pieces together and shrug like he always does and render Tommy’s trek across the tundra useless? Will he laugh, first? 

Will he call Dream?

Part of Tommy’s stomach twists in and over itself with pure disgust, but the thought comes anyway - _in his mind’s eye he sees Technoblade poised with his pickaxe over his head and he sees Dream with his hand pushing Tommy backwards, a fucking savior_ \- Tommy gasps in a breath of thin mountain air, failing to shove away his nausea, thinking puking on Technoblade’s floorboards is the least of the revenge he deserves.

He doesn’t have the time to throw up. Techno’s horse whinnies from just outside. Snow crunches under heavy boots. Techno’s hand scratches against the wood of the door, hinges primed to scream as it opens.

Technoblade is his brother. This is not his house. Tommy closes his eyes and gets ready to pretend both are true. 

“What are you doing in my house, Tommy?” 

It’s dry. It’s pitched low. It’s - it’s Technoblade, and that’s all Tommy thinks for a solid few seconds before he remembers who he is. 

“Fuck you,” he says, cracking open an eye to see how long he has left before he dies.

Techno just shuts the door behind him, shrugging snow off his fur cape. He’s got iron armor, a severe enough downgrade that confusion shoves some of the fear out of Tommy’s ribs. His hair’s tangled in his crown, sitting lopsided and cracked on his head, and there is a firework of a blood splatter painted across his chest.

“What are you doing in my house?” Techno asks again. He doesn’t sound mad, but then again, Tommy isn’t sure he’d know what mad sounded like, anymore.

“It’s my house,” Tommy says, drawing himself up. 

“It is not,” Techno says. He moves. Tommy scrambles for the ladder down to the cow room, throwing himself into his self-made manhole like that will save him.

“It is,” Tommy chirps, excusing the waver in his voice as a fluke. “Please leave!”

From above, Tommy hears the sound of chests opening and closing, Techno’s footfalls weighing less and less as he most likely sheds his iron armor in favor of his usual Netherite. Tommy tries and fails to breathe like a normal fucking person.

“It’s my house, Tommy,” Techno calls through the stone floor. “Just tell me what you want and leave.”

“Please leave,” Tommy yells back, pushing away from the wall to frantically rifle through a random chest. Prime, he’s so stupid, so careless - where did he put his sword?

“I’m - Tommy, this is my - Tommy, you’re the one who stole from me, aren’t you?”

“Leave, thank you!” He knows. 

“Tommy! Where did you go?”

“Please leave my house!”

“Tommy,” Techno says, and when Tommy turns around he all but screams to see Techno standing in his room, two feet away from his face.

“How did you -” he splutters, “I didn’t hear you -”

Techno isn’t wearing armor. He’s not even wearing his crown. He’s just in a thin shirt and normal pants, not even his cape in sight. His eyes are narrowed behind his glasses, arms crossed over his chest, tall, but not towering, anymore.

Tommy suddenly can’t think of anything except that time when he was seven when Techno died in their home server for the first time and swore under Phil’s trembling hands he’d never do it again.

“Did you do this?” Techno asks, screaming _unimpressed_ in the crook of his eyebrows and _pissed off_ in the thin line of his mouth. 

“This is my room,” Tommy says, stupidly.

“How long have you been living here?”

“Long enough.”

“What happened to, what was it, Logsted-”

“It blew up,” Tommy says.

Techno laughs, once, and if Tommy didn’t know any better he’d say it sounded surprised. “What a shame.”

“I ran,” Tommy says, instead of _I almost fucking jumped, Techno,_ “Dream doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Dream?” Techno scoffs. “Why should he care where you are?”

“‘Cause he’s my friend,” Tommy says after a beat of hesitation, back to feeling a little bit sick with all of it. “Look, Techno, I’ve got plans to scheme and shit to do, so if you wouldn’t mind leaving me be? And close the trapdoor on your way out.”

“Right,” Techno says dryly, and takes a step forward. “You can’t stay here.”

Tommy had been expecting this, somewhere deep down, because so much as he tries to pretend otherwise Technoblade is not his brother and has not been for a very long time. Tommy had known, and perhaps it wasn’t hatred that drove him underground but this awful feeling creeping into his spine and pulling the corners of his mouth down. 

“It ain’t your call, big man,” Tommy grumbles, gesturing to the yellow-stained walls. “I built this, I get to decide who lives here.”

“This is my property.”

“I dug it out! With my own two hands!”

“Be grateful I’m not making you fill it back in.”

“Techno, I’m not leaving,” Tommy says, and it’s true, “I just need a place to stay, just need to regroup and - and get back up, get me pep back.” He makes a half-assed thumbs up, daring to look into Techno’s icy eyes.

There’s _something_ there. Tommy looks away again.

“Regroup.”

“Yeah, regroup.”

“You have a goal?” Techno prods.

“My discs,” Tommy shrugs. “I’m getting them back.”

Techno cocks his head, considering. “You’re exiled, still.”

“Fuck that,” Tommy says, “I don’t need L’Manberg, I don’t need - I just want my discs. I’m going to get them, no matter what.”

Tommy never did need L’Manberg. Saying that was easy. He doesn’t finish the other half, because he’s never really been a good liar.

“Maybe,” Techno mutters, staring so intensely into Tommy’s forehead he could swear his bangs start to burn. “Maybe we have a common goal.”

“I don’t have anything in common with you,” Tommy spits. “You killed Tubbo. I hate you.”

Techno chuckles. “Yeah. That’s why you’re here, holed up in my basement.”

Tommy opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, then snaps it shut when Techno jolts into slow pace, back and forth between the ladder and the opposite wall. 

“I get it, Tommy. I get it. You really do want your discs, I believe you, you’re sick and tired of L’Manberg, I believe you. But you’re exiled and alone. And you’ll never work a day in your life, am I right?”

“I don’t have to.” Tommy tries to sound confident.

“Which is why you’re here. You’ve been stealing from me to finance your little mission.”

“Maybe,” Tommy mutters.

“What if I helped you get your discs back?” Techno asks innocently. Tommy almost breaks down then and there with how fucking tired he is. 

Because here is what Tommy’s known forever - Technoblade is not kind. Technoblade is not malicious, either. Technoblade isn’t much of anything at all, he’s just Techno, he’s just someone Tommy looked away from for a little too long and doesn’t recognize anymore. 

And here is what Tommy’s grown to understand - Technoblade doesn’t help people. He does things for them and cashes favors in return. He gives and expects to take, and if he doesn’t, like the most dangerous toddler you can imagine, he throws a tantrum that kills people. 

When he promises help, it is not out of love. Technoblade loves three things - Phil, the voices in his head, and absolute reciprocity. He does not love Tommy. He isn’t going to help Tommy - Tommy’s going to help him at the expense of everything he cares about. 

But here is what Tommy has only learned in recent months - Technoblade is a man. He’s got brown hair under that dye. He’s got Philza’s eyes. He’s flesh and bone, he’s fucking mortal, and when he’s standing this close, almost vulnerable, Tommy realizes that both of his hands would fit easily around Techno’s neck. 

“And why would you do that?” Tommy croaks.

“Because I want to destroy L’Manberg,” Techno grins, pointing up to the chests full of op shit Tommy had stolen from just hours earlier. “You don’t care about it. You need me to get your discs back. Working together is the logical thing to do, here.”

He wants to destroy L’Manberg. Tubbo’s L’Manberg. Tubbo. He wants to kill Tubbo again. The thought of it makes Tommy’s hands start to shake.

If he says yes, Tubbo dies, and so does everything Wilbur left behind. If he says says no, he’ll end up back with Dream, back to the fucked up _peace_ he had refused to accept, and he could go back to his stupid skyscraper and sit on top of it and watch as Technoblade destroyed L’Manberg anyway and the only thing he would get out of that would be no discs and a broken compass. 

If he says yes, he gets to have a fucking home; it may be a lie, but so has everything else he’s ever loved. 

“Alright,” Tommy says. “I’ll help you, Technoblade.”

And maybe some twisted, burnt up part of him thinks absolute reciprocity is worth a try. 

“Alright,” Techno parrots, and turns with a toothy grin that looks so much like Wilbur’s that Tommy starts to smile, too. “Then follow me, Theseus. I’ve got something to show you.”

~

Quackity doesn’t tell anyone what happened.

He wakes up perfectly fine, afterwards, because of course he does. He wakes up perfectly fine, feeling no pain, his heart still fucking pounding out of his chest and his hands still clenching around the ghost of a sword handle.

There is blood on his apron. There’s blood on his hoodie. Fuck, there’s so much blood on his hoodie, and he chokes at the smell of copper that clogs his airways. He feels like crying, except he’s done _enough_ of that, so he settles for a whimper, pathetic in the solitude of his room. 

Slowly, he swings his legs over the side of his bed and stands. He feels hazy, like Technoblade’s pickaxe is still lodged inside his head; with a rush he remembers everything from the past hour compacted into three seconds.

He’d watched the anvil fall. He had watched the fucking anvil fall. He had watched the anvil fall through Punz’s sword pushing down on his, and he’d watched the glinting gold totem burn a scar into Technoblade’s hand for the crime of _not fucking dying_ and he’d ran, faster than he thought he ever could, and he’d died for the crime of _wanting_.

It’s not fair. Nothing ever is. He tries and he always fails, he dares to reach for something and gets crushed under its heel. He wants justice, and he gets rough hands and worse words, he wants justice and he gets a mining tool through the skin of his cheek. He wants justice so fucking bad that he thinks he can understand a little bit of why Schlatt rotted from the inside-out.

_Schlatt had figured it out long ago. Schlatt understood. Schlatt knew the truth - nothing ever works out for Alex Quackity._

Quackity hasn’t been breathing. It’s hard to start again. He feels like his heart has burst, like his all of his muscles are pulling apart. His first life, his first chance, has come and gone. He only gets two more.

Outside, he hears the aftermath of Punz’s attack, Fundy’s high shrill carrying through the square. Quackity comes back to his body as fast as he can, feeling his clothes scratch on his skin, the weight of his wings on his back.

Technoblade had stepped on his wings and broken them, during the fight. They curl, almost cowardly, behind him, and Quackity thinks about starting to bind them again. They get in the way, and they’re fucking ugly - just one more thing for someone to pull on, like his hair and his arms and -

Quackity’s face burns. He has an aching phantom pain in his teeth, but more importantly, he’s got to make sure Tubbo and Fundy are alright. He swallows a mouthful of blood and forces his legs to move.

“Big Q,” Tubbo blurts out when he finally gets to the center of New L’Manberg. “Where’ve you been? What happened? Are you alright?”

Too many fucking questions so close to a respawn. Quackity stumbles a little on the wood slats. 

“Q,” Fundy says, eyes wide and ears flat to his head. Quackity doesn’t know how he’s managed to stay so soft. 

“Sir?” Ranboo asks, sounding confused. 

“He got away,” Quackity rasps. His voice doesn’t seem to work right. 

Fundy’s face pulls into a grimace. “I knew it.”

“Your face,” Tubbo starts, then stops short at Quackity’s full-body shudder. 

“To the meeting room,” Quackity growls, swiping a hand across his cheek, “right fucking now. I’ve got something to say.”

Later, after he’s screamed himself hoarse, Quackity will look at himself long and hard in the mirror. He will see poorly clipped wings hanging limp from his shoulder blades. He will see hair hastily hacked out of his eyes, a ragged hat that serves as a useless shield. He will see bruises down his arms. But most importantly, he will see a new, thick, twisting scar cutting across his jaw and crashing over his lips, and it will be this that makes him cry for the first time since Schlatt died.

Right now, there is so much blood on his hoodie. Right now, red is all he can see. Now, Ranboo and Fundy hesitate behind him, looking to Tubbo for confirmation. 

“Okay,” Tubbo whispers, fingers ghosting over the burned bridge of his nose. “Lead the way, Big Q.”

Quackity grins, ignoring the way it stings his skin, the way Ranboo’s face shifts to something that could be disgust if it weren’t for the sunglasses over his eyes. He whirls and marches methodically to their bunker, each step echoing in his head alongside Techno’s never ending laughter.

One life down. One more shot. Dream’s going to fucking pay, and Quackity can finally, finally stop fighting to breathe.

_Why do you think I keep you around, huh? If you manage to learn anything during the Schlatt Administration, Quackity, let it be this: there’s always someone else to blame._

**Author's Note:**

> if it’s confusing, the last line in italics was supposed to be from schlatt to q during his presidency :]
> 
> Also I wrote this a few days before ,,,, everything went down on the fifth/sixth so i feel a little bit proud of myself
> 
> Edit 01/17/21: edited to match the canon lives


End file.
